Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 128087 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128087 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
They had also coaxed their way into Zepharali’s bed to use his winds to solidify their love and ignite their passion for each other to a new height. When they were done, they’d had no further use for him.
They wouldn’t love him the way he needed, but he accepted their sworn allegiance and lifelong servitude as his hands.
“My lord.” Lyan sat him at his dressing table and began to ready him for the setting of his suns. “Word is already spreading of the foreign presence atop the Kipmis Mountain.”
Zepharali was quiet, still in deep thought with his heart, while his winds whispered of prophecies and promises.
Dyan held up clothing for his approval—a wheat-colored leather vest and brown linen breeches—but he wasn’t paying attention.
Lyan massaged Zepharali’s scalp with a comforting touch he’d always enjoyed, but tonight, the touch felt wrong.
Lyan raked his fingers through his long, blond dreadlocks, preparing to style them in one of his many grand creations. Zepharali stopped him.
“Leave them down this eve.”
Lyan threw another inconspicuous glance at his lover.
“And who are we trying to impress, my lord?” Lyan smiled, all cute and sexy. “You only leave your locks down when you are courting.”
That was true. His hair was one of his most attractive features, but that was not why he requested it—mostly. He just didn’t want to wait much longer to return to Lazaar.
“As you request, my lord,”
Lyan spritzed his roots with an elixir he crafted from the natural essences of Scáthanna and fanned some of his locks over his shoulder, allowing the rest to fall down his back.
Dyan must’ve sensed his restlessness and wasted little time dressing him.
Zepharali could barely remain still while they smoothed honey-infused moisturizer over his arms before clamping on his leather wrist and biceps bands.
As usual, the two surveyed their handiwork, nodding their approval.
“Magnificent as always, my lord,” they declared in perfect unison.
Bolting across the room, he threw one of his cloaks over his shoulders, not wanting to waste another precious minute.
He didn’t even allow his detail to get into formation for his departure before he was out the doors of his chambers and moving down the corridor.
He could hear his six personal guards—his daughters from an Amazon queen—keeping pace with his long strides.
“Father, if you seek the tribrid, he’s in—”
“I know exactly where he is.”
Lazaar
Lazaar’s heart sank as he watched Zepharali—his own beloved—walk away from him with ease.
“He turned his back on me, Olek. He imprisoned me.”
“My lord—”
“No. How did he reject me?” Lazaar whimpered in agony from the corner of his dark cell. “I can’t handle this… I just can’t.”
He sat with his back pressed to the stone wall, staring up at the forty-foot-high ceiling made of metal bars too thick for anyone to break.
The sky was dim, the suns long gone, casting eerie shadows around him that provided him with zero comforts.
Myst sat perched above him, her long talons clutching one of the bars and her obsidian eyes watching for his distress.
He hadn’t been treated cruelly. He and his guardian were given hot food and drink, but Lazaar’s appetite was nonexistent… Well, for the kind of food they offered.
He was trying to contain the storm of emotions churning in the pit of his stomach like rotten meat. He wanted to scream, cry, throw his fireballs in a fit of rage, anything to consume the indescribable ache in his chest.
At least his fangs had receded during his long trek behind the well-built, intimidating women in full warrior armor. Some had wielded spears. Others had carried swords and axes at their sides.
Lazaar knew they were all Zepharali’s daughters because of their sun-kissed hair and alluring hazel eyes.
His supposed beloved had left him in the care of soldiers who would hurt him if he failed to comply with their orders.
“Olek, Mother Earth said the Lord of the Summer Winds would be my bel—”
“Lazaar.” Oleksandr nodded to the four guards standing watch, observing his behavior and listening to his every word.
Oleksandr sat across from him on the other side of the cell.
“My lord, he is, I can swear that to you. But he’s also a proud titan who’s not used to being disobeyed.”
Lazaar went silent.
He could sense Zepharali was close, but for Lazaar, he wasn’t close enough.
He wondered if his beloved was thinking of him as much as he was him.
Lazaar prayed he was not upset or disappointed in him or angry for the way he’d hidden on his mountain for so long. But he’d been afraid.
“My prince, when Lord Zepharali returns, you must be more forthcoming and obey him.”
He dropped his head between his knees. “I can’t control it when he’s so near.”
“I know your thirst is strong, but it will only get more intense until you connect with him.” Oleksandr came to him and touched his shoulder, but Lazaar still flinched. “The titan will not react in the same way as a human. He’s far stronger and somewhat able to resist the pull of your fated bond…but not for long. I promise, lord.”